Everyone at the party knows. Knows you and Rafe Cameron are always on and off—like it’s a goddamn game. One second he’s kissing you in his truck with his hand on your thigh, telling you he can’t breathe without you, and the next, he’s ghosting you for days, showing up with some other girl on his arm like you never existed.

Tonight, it’s one of those nights. He’s on—but not with you.

You see him before he sees you. His arm slung around a girl’s shoulder, laughing like he doesn’t have a war going on in your chest. She’s pretty. Loud. Clingy. He lets her hang off him like she belongs there.

You try to laugh it off. Play it cool. But your eyes keep drifting to him. And your heart? It’s not playing along.

So you drink.

You drink too much.

Beer, shots, whatever someone hands you. You keep smiling, keep pretending like you’re fine. Like this doesn’t feel like the final nail in a coffin you never agreed to close.

But the music gets too loud. The lights blur. Your legs feel a little too heavy.

You stumble out back for air, the cold hitting your skin like a slap. You try to sit on the porch stairs, but the world tilts and shifts underneath you. And then everything fades.

Later, someone yells his name, and he’s storming through the crowd. He doesn’t even hesitate. He pushes through the bodies until he sees you—curled up against the side of the porch, your skin pale, a cup spilled beside you.

His heart stops.

“Shit—”

He’s dropping to his knees, shaking your shoulder, his voice cracking, “Hey. Baby. Hey, come on. What the fuck?”

The girl he came with? Forgotten.

Because no matter how many times you and Rafe fall apart—he always comes back.

And seeing you like this?

It might just break him.